


The Art Of Procrastination

by afteriwake



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amy is a Mess, Coffee, Concerned Sherlock, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Messy, Overly Caffeinated Amy, POV Sherlock Holmes, Snacks & Snack Food, sugar rush - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock takes a case away from London and comes back to find that Amelia has spent the last three days subsisting on coffee and fruit snacks. He is dreading the inevitable crash and tries to head off any spectacular disasters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art Of Procrastination

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlowingMechanicalHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowingMechanicalHeart/gifts).



> So a little while back on my Tumblr I posted a text post that went " _Imagine your OTP where one is the Fully Functional Adult and the other has been living off coffee and fruit snacks for three days straight_ " and my good friend **ladyofhimring** ended up challenging me to answer it with a Pondlock fic with Sherlock being the Fully Functional Adult and Amy being the one who had been living off of coffee and fruit snacks. I have to admit, this was an utter blast to write.

He wondered just how much money Amelia had spent on fruit snacks in the last few days, but judging by the pile of boxes stacked in and around the rubbish bin and what seemed like the hundreds of small plastic bags scattered all around the sitting room and kitchen table, he had to estimate it was at least a few hundred pounds. 

And he had only been gone _three days_.

He had known she had an article to write for a travel magazine that she was putting off until the last possible moment because her experience at the resort and in the small town had not been altogether pleasant and she wasn’t looking forward to writing the article in which she was planning on condemning the place as a “roach infested place that belonged in the ninth circle of Hell.” He had accompanied her on the trip and he had much choicer terms for it than that, but he could see her hesitation. He had reluctantly left her to her own devices to take a case in the Isle of Wight.

He had not expected to return to...this.

Amelia was sitting on her favorite chair, her laptop on her lap, hair piled loosely in a bun on the top of her head, secured with an elastic band with two pens stuck in it and another pen stuck in her mouth that she was chewing the end of. She appeared to be typing furiously, but when he looked at the screen he could understand maybe half the words she was typing. She had a large mug next to her that had a few centimeters of coffee in it that appeared to be mostly coffee and very little of her flavored creamer. He observed her for a few moments, realizing she was so intent on what she was doing she hadn’t even realized he was back, and on a hunch he moved towards the kitchen to check the supply of coffee that they had. All of his Columbia Montebello coffee from Whittard that had been a gift from Mary was gone, and there were four canisters of Illy Dark Roast Espresso in its place. He picked each one up and shook them. One was empty, two were full, and the fourth was only a third full. His eyes widened at that.

He was very much afraid that when Amelia crashed, it was going to be a spectacular disaster.

He cautiously made his way over to her and then changed his mind, moving to the chair across from hers. It was better if he didn’t startle her. She needed her laptop to remain in on piece, after all, as it was an important piece of equipment needed for her post. He sat down in the chair and then leaned forward, settling his elbows on his thighs and then clasping his hands together. “Amelia?” he asked quietly.

“Hmm?” she answered, not looking up or removing the pen from her mouth.

“When is the last time you had something to eat that wasn’t...” He picked up a few of the plastic bags nearby him to read off labels. “Strawberry Fruit Bowl Peelers? Or Kiddylicious Tropical Fruit Wriggles? Or Kellogs Duo Strawberry And Blackcurrant Fruit Winders? Or Kiddylicious Strawberry And Banana Smoothie Melts?”

She frowned at that. “A few days ago, I think.”

“Can you remember exactly?” he asked, tossing the bags aside, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on his knuckles.

She shook her head, pulling the pen out of her mouth. “Nope.”

“If I make you real food, will you eat it?” he asked.

“Maybe. What were you going to make?” she asked.

“A bowl of cereal, to start with,” he said. “I think you might go into shock with anything more substantial.”

“Honey Monster Puffs?” she asked, lifting her head up, having perked up a bit.

He shook his head. “Weetabix,” he said. “I think if you have any more sugar you might bounce around the room like a hyperactive child soon.”

She pouted. “I will not,” she said.

He pointed to her sitting form. “You’re nearly bouncing in your seat and you’re typing gibberish. I don’t know if that’s from the copious amount of sugar you’ve consumed or the copious amounts of caffeine you’ve consumed, but I doubt either have helped.”

She blinked, and then turned back to her laptop screen as though really seeing it for the first time. “Oh, bloody hell,” she said, easing it off her lap and setting it on the table next to the chair.

“You really didn’t want to write that article, did you?” he asked.

“No, so I decided to do a million other things instead, and got caught up in a million other ideas to write, and I decided I wanted to write out a brilliant idea for a novel. It started off well enough, but then I got all consumed by it,” she said getting out of her chair and coming over to his and dropping into his lap. “It’s about a female private detective named Melody Malone.”

“That sounds interesting,” he said. “You’ll have to tell me about it later.”

“You’re just saying that because you want me to go to sleep,” she said with a smile.

“Partially,” he said, smoothing her hair back. “But you’ve left the kitchen and sitting room a disaster and it needs to be cleaned up and you’re not in the state to do it, and I need to eat. The food on the way back was ghastly.”

“Mmm,” she said. “Well, can you at least keep me company until I finally crash? I don’t think it will be too long.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Of course,” he said. He shifted a bit, gathering her up in his arms, and then lifted her up as he got off the chair. It took some effort, but as she snuggled into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carried her to their bedroom, he realized it would be worth it. He would take care of her while she dealt with the inevitable crash from the caffeine and sugar overdose because, after all, taking care of those you loved was what one did, was it not?


End file.
